


A Matter of Ownership

by GhostOfDorothyStreet



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Possessive Behavior, episode 1.15, past relationship, referenced explicit sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 02:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13649106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOfDorothyStreet/pseuds/GhostOfDorothyStreet
Summary: "Does the old man know about all the ways I made you mine?"





	A Matter of Ownership

It’s about 1am on the night of the grand opening of ‘Oswald’s’; a pathetic time for any night club to be closing, let alone one trying to drum up new business, but the club and the street outside are quiet and deserted.

Deserted save for one man, anyway.

Sal Maroni leans back against the wall of the alley outside the back entrance to the club, hidden in shadow as he smokes a cigar. It’s a cold night, but he’s never been particularly bothered by that, and he knows that if he waits long enough, he’ll be able to catch the club’s new proprietor alone. Sal had put the frighteners on him at the opening earlier that evening, and it had been fun to watch the little rat squirm, but there was still a sense of unfinished business about the whole thing. Something he wanted resolved away from prying eyes. Just him and Oswald.

He crushes out his cigar, grinding it into the filthy alley floor. It’s a good spot for messy business, and he doesn’t mind the wait.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to wait very long, and Oswald soon appears in the doorway. Haloed by the kitchen lights, Oswald carries an empty bottle of champagne over towards the trashcans, a glum expression on his weirdly pretty face. Sal steps out of the shadows and into the light, causing Oswald to jump and stammer.

“Don Maroni... I didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon...”

Sal smirks.

“Hey, Oswald.”

Oswald visibly stiffens at the use of his real name, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle. But he startles and drops it to the floor when Sal steps up closer to him. Sal laughs, holds up his hands.

“I just wanted a little chat. That’s all.”

Oswald bristles, huffy attitude failing to mask anger and shame. When he speaks it’s in clipped tones that have a rising edge of panic to them – they’re all alone after all, and screams don’t draw attention so well in this part of town.

“Don Maroni, I will remind you, that you made a deal with Don Falcone, and if you do anything to...”

Sal cuts him off, hushing him with a raised finger and a look. He steps closer, right into Oswald’s personal space, backing him into the wall next to the rusted metal door of the club. He can hear Oswald’s breath hitch, and damned if that doesn’t make something clench in his chest.

“I know what I agreed to. I know what I said to Falcone,” they’re within whispering distance now, and he's sure if he put his hand on Oswald’s chest he could feel his heart racing like a scared rabbit, “I’m kinda curious though, about what it is you’ve said to him. About us.”

He leans in, his lips brushing against the curve of Oswald’s ear.

“Does the old man know about all the ways I made you mine?”

Close up like this, with the little traitor’s scrawny body pressed tight against his, up against the rough brick of the alley wall, Sal’s head swims with memories.

Kissing Oswald for the first time, feeling him melt into it and tasting blood from Oswald’s split lip…Oswald on his back, those skinny little legs wrapped around Sal’s hips as he pounded him into the mattress…Oswald on his knees, lips red and shining from Sal having fucked his mouth. Pearls of cum on his chin, his cheekbones, across the bridge of his nose…Oswald straddling his lap, Sal’s big hands encircling his narrow waist and bouncing him on his cock. Oswald cumming untouched, crying out Sal’s name as his cock pumped up into him…

But it’s not even just that; it’s thinking about that stupid, obnoxious little laugh of his, and that smug grin that should have been irritating but just made Sal want to kiss him even more. The jokes and comments that Sal didn’t always get, but which always seemed to make the other guys bristle and that was entertaining in and of itself. The way the little bastard would look up at him with those big green eyes, all eager and innocent even though Sal knew damn well how vicious he could be. The way he’d been so easy to talk to, how he’d seemed to read his mind sometimes, to know what he wanted before Sal knew himself.

That’s the stuff that burns, makes his blood boil even as most of it’s rushing to his dick. He’d come so damn close to giving Oswald everything, he’d had plans for them, and then...

He wedges his knee between Oswald’s thighs, breathes hot against his neck.

“I know you wanted it. Know you liked what I used to do to you...” he laughs, quiet and bitter, “You’re a pretty good actor, but you ain’t that good.”

He suddenly finds himself pushed back, away from the wall, and staggers a little. Oswald isn’t that strong, but the shove was surprising, and Sal’s weight works against him. Oswald’s face is flushed as he sneers up at him, eyes bright in the streetlight, and he’s trembling with a nervous sort of intensity.

“Good enough to fool you,” he hisses; less a bird and more a defiant little alley cat squaring off against a junkyard dog, “Good enough that you didn’t know I was lying to you for months, that you slept next to me after I stabbed one of your lieutenants to death...”

He flings his arms out, a hysterical, joyless smile on his lips as he gestures to their surroundings. Always a fucking drama queen even though his voice is wavering.

“And would you look at this! I’m not the one who waited around for hours in an alley just so that I could try and get another taste. So... so who really owns who? Huh?”

Sal has no response to that but to snarl and shove Oswald back into the wall, rattling a nearby trash can. That probably alerted whatever muscle Oswald has working for him back inside the club, but Sal’s past caring. He crashes his lips against Oswald’s, hard and possessive, biting down on his lower lip. Hears that little whimpering sound that hits him right in the gut, and for a moment, just a moment, feels Oswald kiss him back.

He steps back then, forcing himself away from Oswald’s body, and feeling gratified by the way the smaller man’s arms reach out to him for a second before they sink back against his sides. He leaves Oswald rumpled and dishevelled, lips red and parted, and so damn delicious looking that Sal has to mentally shake himself so as not to grab hold of him again. He straightens his own jacket and pulls out a cigar from his pocket, casually cutting the end and lighting up while Oswald tries to regain his footing.

He takes a long drag of the cigar, and breathes a plume of smoke in Oswald’s direction; looking at what had been his goddamn dream guy through a veil of distortion once more.

“I’m still gonna kill you, Oswald,” he says, voice low and rough edged, “But I’m gonna make you admit who you belong to before I do. And everyone else is gonna know too.”

He turns on his heel and strides out of the alley without looking back, and he maybe it’s his imagination, but as he rounds the corner he swears he hears a broken little voice gasp out his name.


End file.
